"Jesus fucking wept!"
They'd started just after a late lunch, and the day was drawing to a close. This was her second sitting too; there was a lot of detail in this one, and she'd probably be back anyway. A couple of hours was all she could handle, realistically – otherwise she'd stand up from the couch and fall straight back down again.
The first time she'd tentatively opened the door, she'd been pretty nervous anyway. So many people had recommended the place, and it was a bit intimidating – not in a grungy way, more in a oh-shit-I'm-outta-my-depth sense. Clean – no, spotless – professional, and artistic. Cool artwork on the walls. Retro tattoos everywhere. The other artists were bearded, rimless glasses, flesh tunnels in their ears. Hipster.
This time around she'd not been quite so unnerved. It was busier when she'd returned for the second appointment, but livelier too – three or four artists working on clients, everyone talking, the artists laughing and their subjects trying not to for fear of moving.
She'd stood on a chair as he applied the stencil to her lower leg. She watched from high up as he carefully positioned it just-so, his head bowed over his work, his own tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt, creeping up his neck. He blew a lock of hair away from his face as he straightened, telling her to lie face down on the padded massage couch.
It hurt like hell on the back of her calf. More than the first time, when he'd worked around the side and over her shinbone. She'd distracted herself with her phone, checking her Facebook account, her emails, anything really. She'd noticed last time that he'd not been much of a talker. She'd tried to engage in conversation, curious about the man who was leaving permanent marks on her body, and whilst he was perfectly polite, he didn't seem to want to chat.
"Smarts on that bit, doesn't it," he'd said, as she took a break for a moment to adjust her position. She'd done her best to stay still, but joked as they started that she'd have to make a real effort not to kick him in the face. After a while she'd had to fidget, because she'd held herself up on her elbows and was starting to tire.
"Too right," she sighed. "Ah well, be worth it in the end!"
He'd laughed with his colleagues but didn't seem to want to make small talk with her. As she lay back down, she glanced backward, appreciating how he looked as he concentrated on changing the needle in the tattoo gun. She went back to her phone, quickly squashing her thoughts. His girlfriend had been there, spending the last of her lunchbreak with him. And she'd got her own man at home. She was quite happy. Nothing wrong with appreciation though, she thought. No-one has to know.
The sting in her leg made it hard to think anyway, so she looked around the room. One of the tattoo designs on the wall depicted a buxom young woman bent over a sailor's knee, taking a spanking, her heels flailing in the air. She wondered who'd drawn that one, and entertained the faint hope that it was one of his. That he liked the idea.
The afternoon was drawing in and he'd almost finished. The other artists had completed working on their clients and all but one had disappeared for the afternoon. The bearded dude in the drainpipe jeans.
"You almost done there?" Beard-dude called over.
"Yeah, just some highlights and a bit of shading to go. You head off. I'll lock up."
"You sure? Thanks man. She doesn't look like the mugging-for-the-takings type," Beard-dude grinned at her. "In fact she's been quiet as a mouse."
"I didn't shut up first time round," she smiled back. "Nerves I guess."
"Ah, you got no reason to be nervous now though," smiled her artist. "Pro now, aren't ya? See you in the morning, dude," He raised a hand in farewell to his colleague, and the bell on the door rattled as he closed it.
She'd laughed quietly.
"What?"
"You, taking the piss out of me. Just because it's only my second tattoo, and you're covered.."
"I wasn't!" he protested in mock horror. "Besides, these have been collected over years."
It was odd, she'd noticed, but as the needle burned on her skin, she felt his gloved fingers as he pulled the skin taut. He was gentle, but where his fingers made contact, she could feel the same burning sensation as where the needle buzzed. Like it was transferring pain. How strange that it should feel that way.
"Where'd it hurt most on you, then?" she asked, feeling a need to fill the silence of the shop.
"Hmm..." he tried to recall. "Probably the same place – or ribs, I think. That's always sore."
"It's transient though isn't it," she mused. "I'd still rather do this than be pierced. This hurts less."
He laughed. "I guess that depends on where you're pierced though! And piercing's quicker. Come on then, own up... Where?"
He was more talkative when there was no-one else around. She chuckled and dropped her head between her arms, onto the couch.
"Oh, now you're asking!"
"Ohhh... One of those, was it?"
"Yup. It's weird, sitting there fully clothed from the waist up, while someone's bending over your nether regions with a fucking great needle."
"Oh.. Oh! Shit! I thought you were gonna say nipple!"
"Erm, no. I'm told that's bloody agony, although I do kinda fancy it. No, this was.. well.. they call it a VCH." She was pretty sure he'd know exactly where that went.
